Page 10 of Fallen Omega

“You’re talking to me.” A lighter flares, and I glimpse his beauty in that golden flash. Smoke drifts down.

“You talked first.”

“So I did. Keep away. I can smell you from here, you know. Delightful. Others might see that as you being available and theirs for the taking.”

“They know me—” I stop myself. I’ve no idea who this is. I never do this. Never talk to strangers. He could be anyone. Council, a degenerate. Dangerous. And yet…it’s almost impossible to stop.

“And they know you’re now on the radar of the Council. You’ve got an exiled father, too. Keep away from the Hollows.”

Panic nibbles. “Who are you?”

“A ghost, little omega, nothing but a ghost. And watch out for the Unholy Trinity. They’re behind this.”

Now panic flares bright. “What?—”

“All of it, Lizette. All of it. So go home, build a fucking nest like a good little omega. And then…?”

My gut plummets. He knows me. “And then what?”

“Run.”

Chapter

Three

Lizette

One pill isn’t enough.

I groan, curling up like some kind of addict in withdrawal. I wish for the millionth time that I was just a regular ol’ girl. A beta. A gamma. Literallyanyoneelse.

On the TV, some terrible movie is playing something I don’t have to think about as I burrow deeper into my blanket nest.

Whoever that blond man was…he’s just as bad at the one who reported me. The Council guy.

But the thing is, thinking of the man who gave me some convoluted warning doesn’t drive me crazy. It doesn’t do anything. Except I know he used his alpha command to make me rush home. Just like the Council man used his to warn off the cops.

And land me in trouble.

Oh, hell…

I suck in air. There’s something about the Council manthat won’t leave me alone. That makes my body thrum and invades dreams.

I can still smell him.

I can conjure him from my memories, dark and hot and pure sex. Even though I didn’t see him, I know this. I envision him from his intoxicating scent if I close my eyes and breathe in deep. It twists my insides, makes me ache, and sends painful urges shooting through me. It’s like I want to claw my way out of my body and find him and…

And…

I laugh. The sound’s so pitiful that I pull the covers over my head.

And what? Sniff him to death? Lick him all over? Jump him?

I push him from my mind and drag my computer under the covers. I go to a discussion forum. It’s for omegas, and I scroll through the posts about the mate crap and posts from some of the almost evangelical girls who see their status as a higher calling. Finally, I come to what I need.

How to cope.

There’s so much advice, ranging from rubbing cut lemon into your armpits at midnight—like, what? —to going out and getting laid.

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